Chapter Thirty-Two Hanna
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hanna
I’d forgotten to eat. Made myself stop checking the café’s security app after midnight when my vision blurred and a pinching
headache ran up the back of my neck. That was two hours ago. I’d set my cell down, hoping I’d drift off and did, but I was
wide awake now.
A noise, fear—something—forced my eyes open. I bounced up, sitting on the couch, confused about where I was and how I got
there.
It took a few seconds for the haze to clear. My house. Usually a place of solace. Since Xavier died, just one more location
filled with draining memories and dread.
I spied my phone across the room, sitting on a charger. I could squeeze in one more check on the café and Jeremy if he activated
the café alarm. It was off earlier. Yeah, he was old enough to get dinner and lock a door. Blah, blah, blah. Being a watchful mom was a hard habit to break.
First, I needed to move. I stood up, biting back a groan and ignoring the odd crick in my knees. Digging in the soil, begging it to cough up its secrets, had left my lower back aching and my hands cramping.
Then the hours came rushing back. The smell of fall. Wood burning in the distance. The orange Halloween lights on the fence
of the house across the street. The cool breeze smacking against my face.
Patrick. Victoria. Noah.
The names spun in my head. Whose bones? Whose body? Who put it there and where were the others?
Green tea wouldn’t answer the questions but might make the slow passage of fraught minutes more tolerable. Add a scone. My
new priorities had me heading for the kitchen, passing the table and the stack of new mail likely filled with political crap
and flyers from people who wanted to install solar or new windows or carpeting. As if I needed any of those or wanted anyone
in or near my house right now.
I reached for the mug sitting in the sink and . . . I spun around to face the table again. New mail? Digging, uncovering the
worst, had depleted my brainpower, short-circuiting any chance of logical thought. I’d shuffled through every minute since.
The visions of the day piled up and I didn’t have the energy to separate and assess them. But I knew one thing: I hadn’t grabbed
the mail on the way in. Thanks to the dreaded white envelopes, the mail might as well be poison right now.
The mug landed with a clank on the table when I saw the yellow sticky note on top of the mail stack. Jeremy’s barely legible
print: got this for you
No capitalization. No punctuation. But when did he bring this in? I must have been out of it on that couch and missed him slipping back inside.
A small household thing. A bit of normalcy.
A frisson of hope rippled through me. I doubted forgiveness could be that quick or that easy, but that was the point of hope.
You grasped on to it with desperate, clawing fingers, when you didn’t have anything else left holding you together.
“Jeremy?”
No response. Just the sound of that kitchen clock echoed back at me. A quick peek in his room and nothing but the usual blanket
on his bed and the bookshelves littered with high school trophies and those spy novels he loved.
Okay, so he’d come in and out. Nothing had changed but at least nothing seemed worse than it had when I nodded off.
The last of the energy drained from my body. Time for that tea.
On second look, I noticed the trust documents. I’d left them on the table. The front page was flipped up, so he’d read through
them. Good. I planned to give them to him to review, hoping the gesture would open a discussion. Hiding the money from him
was not an option.
My glance at the mail stack this time was just as brief, but that’s all it took. Third item down. A white envelope. I didn’t
have to see the front to know my name would be there in black letters.
Like before, I ripped the top off the envelope and slid the postcard out.
Do not trust her
This terse missive pissed me off more than the others. Which her? I had a whole mess of potentially untrustworthy women in my life right now.
“Not helpful!” Yeah, no one could hear me, but I didn’t care.
I walked over to the sink, trying to block out the white noise filling my head. The cold water ran over my fingers. I stared
out the window into the cloudy night beyond. A smoky film gathered and grew, creating a foamy white wall that blocked out
my view of the small garden seating area at the back of the café. A strange reddish-orange reflection.
Then I smelled . . . What was that? I turned around, scanned the room, looked for an answer. My brain hadn’t fully restarted
after the shitty day. It took a second for the pieces to come together.
That sharp scent. The haze.
No, no, no. “Jeremy!” I took off for the door, distracted and flailing. “Fire!”